Author: hulda98

19th of October 2017

What made me happy during this birthday, the 65th of them, because the weeding was more a feeling about being used, was that 5 minutes before midnight a friend of mine here in Quanzhou called to tell me that his wife had given birth to a son just a minute ago.

I met this wonderful couple soon after I moved to the city and when I was told that the baby  was supposed to be due on the 25th of May I said that maybe I would get the little one as a birthday present on my 65th birthday the 22.of May. That little boy came to this world just before midnight and we have the same birthday.

The parents asked me to give him an English name and the little one is now Peter. Peter is someone strong and like a rock for those who need him, that is why I chose this name. The little Peter would grow up and take care of his parents, just as they would care for the new borne and the young one and the teenager and the grown up one. That is how it´s done in China.

This is a wonderful family and what an honour to get a phone call immediately after the birth.

There are some peculiar customs around the birth. Peculiar according to our western customs but normal here in China.

The mothers have to be in bed for a month. They can not take a shower, the water is considered to be dangerous for them and the mothers in love make sure that everything is according to the traditions. I have heard that the fathers sometimes try to circle around the rules, when no one sees, and help the mother to take a shower and wash. Of course this tradition is terrifying and many mothers dread this, but having a baby is vital.

The baby is introduced to those closest to him about a month after birth. There is a party, not a big one, just the closest friends, and I was invited. Being invited was another great honour for me and showed me how close my friendship with this young family was. We met in a restaurant, the baby and the parents with few others. We had dinner together and held the baby. He was tiny, tiny, as the children I have seen is this country are. Everyone was delighted. This little one would be the jewel of the family. He would be the only child and spoiled like they all are but that is ok. Everyone was happy and he knows about the foreign woman that is his grandmother, just as his real one in China.

I met the family when I was looking for a place to wash my car. Their company was just around the corner from the dormitory.

As always, in small companies I was  offered tea and  the owner and the boss sat down with me and the friendship began.

The husband showed me around the city, took me to the temple and other wonderful places and explained. He also introduced me to some of his friends. Among others there was a owner of a huge hotel. People like my friend and his friends are just like normal people. They don´t walk with their noses up in the air. They are simply wonderful.

He had a factory that made beautiful things of iron. I went there with him and got an insight into how the work is in a Chinese factory. He gave me those two wall candlesticks and they decorate my home and remind me of my dear friends.

Now, all these years later, he has sold the factory and has another business. What has not changed is our friendship. When you make friends with the Chinese it lasts forever. Not just while you are around. That is at least my experience.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

16^th of October 2017

I am angry and sad.

The 7^th summer I live in my lovely country the fires are raving through the central and north part this weekend.

Portugal is beautiful, it is small and it could be heaven on earth but it is like hell this summer.

Why?

Why do I get a call from a friend up north in the morning and the village has been devastated through the night? People have lost their homes. People have lost their lives. People are desperate.

This hour I can’t breathe properly inside my apartment in Penela. The sky is thick with smoke. The sun has disappeared. Everything smells like fire. There is no rain. There is draught. There is desperation.

Why does the government take action?

Why have they said for the last 7 summers that this is a big problem but they don´t do anything?

I am cried this morning when my friend told me about their desperation during the night, the desperation when trying to save their house. They managed to save the house and are not hurt physically.

I drove through a fire 5 years ago, when on my way home from the beach. I never forget the horror.

Today I have not gone out. It is like something inside me has been turned off and there is just emptiness and sorrow.

I know people in the government. I know people that want to do something. I know people who have lost everything in this horrible disaster.

Now I plead to those who have got the power. Please do something. Please don´t wait for the next catastrophic incident. There will always be another summer. Now is the time to stop talking and implement.

Now is the time to show that you are more than less.

Now is the time I rely on you who govern my tiny country to save it from destruction.

Now is the time to be brave and acknowledge that arsenics are the terrorists in the country.

Now is the time to acknowledge that terrorists have to be punished. They cannot just be judged in sane and set free.

Until you, the government stop being cowards, nothing will change.

I beg of you. Please show why people trusted you to govern the tiny beautiful country, for the good of all.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

16 de outubro de 2017

Estou zangado e triste.

O sétimo verão eu vivo em meu país encantador os fogos estão delirando através da parte central e norte neste fim de semana.

Portugal é lindo, é pequeno e pode ser o céu na terra, mas é como o inferno neste verão.

Porque?

Porque recebo uma ligação de um amigo do norte pela manhã e a vila foi devastada durante a noite? As pessoas perderam as suas casas. As pessoas perderam as suas vidas. As pessoas estão desesperadas.

Esta hora eu não posso respirar corretamente dentro do meu apartamento em Penela. O céu é espesso com fumaça. O sol desapareceu. Tudo cheira como fogo. Não há chuva. Há corrente de ar. Há desespero.

Por que o governo toma medidas?

Porque eles disseram para os últimos 7 verões que este é um grande problema, mas eles não fazer nada?

Estou chorando esta manhã quando meu amigo me contou sobre seu desespero durante a noite, o desespero ao tentar salvar sua casa. Eles conseguiram salvar a casa e não são feridos fisicamente.

Eu dirigi por um incêndio há 5 anos, quando estava voltando da praia. Nunca esqueço o horror.

Hoje eu não tenho saído. É como se algo dentro de mim tivesse sido desligado e há apenas vazio e tristeza.

Conheço pessoas do governo. Conheço pessoas que querem fazer alguma coisa. Conheço pessoas que perderam tudo neste horrível desastre.

Agora eu imploro para aqueles que têm o poder. Por favor, faça alguma coisa. Por favor, não esperar pelo próximo incidente catastrófico. Haverá sempre outro verão. Agora é a hora de parar de falar e implementar.

Agora é a hora de mostrar que você é mais do que menos.

Agora é o momento que eu confio em você que governar o meu pequeno país para salvá-lo da destruição.

Agora é a hora de ser corajoso e reconhecer que os arsênicos são os terroristas no país.

Agora é a hora de reconhecer que os terroristas têm de ser castigados. Eles não podem apenas ser julgados em sã e libertos.

Até que você, o governo parar de ser covardes, nada vai mudar.

Eu imploro. Por favor, mostre por que as pessoas confiam em você para governar o país minúsculo e bonito, para o bem de todos.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

15th of October 2017

Revenge is sometimes the sweetest thing you can imagine. It makes you feel tall and confident. Or does it?

99% of my friends are Portuguese here in my land and I like most of the people I meet.

I have neighbours. Some of them are nice, others I don´t know too much, and there are those not so nice. Usually I try to ignore those who make my life miserable, but one Friday it went too far. I was going to do something about it. This was the time for revenge and I was looking forward to it. Not very nice, I know that, but my patience is not without limits.

I have serious health problems, and have been told for several years, that I need proper sleep during the night. When this was I had been in my apartment  for more than 4 years, and had not slept properly through one night, except for 10 days in August every year. That’s when the neighbours above me go on holiday.

I am not saying that those who live above me are bad people. They are just ignorant. This Friday I am talking about, they came home after midnight. There are 4 of them. When they get home it is showering time. It is time to slam down the blinds. It is time to stomp around the apartment, sometimes on high heels. It is time to walk up the stairs like an army. All this would be fine if there was any insolation in this condominium. Their shower is above my bedroom. I go to bed early, and wake up when they come home. Every day. This Friday it was even worse than usually.

I made up my mind.

Revenge!

I made a plan. I was going to wake up at 6, put up the blinders, pull them down again and up again. I was going to take a loooooooong shower. I was going to brush my teeth, again and again, letting the water run on full speed. I was going to wake them up!

I woke up. No sound. What time is it? It was half past 8. How come I slept so long? I overslept. No wonder, I had not been able to sleep until 3. I need to sleep sometimes, don´t I?

Well, I was not giving up; my revenge would be Sunday morning. I waited all day long, but no one came home this Saturday. Maybe the feast lasted the whole day. Late in the evening it struck me! They had gone on holiday! I would be able to sleep 10 nights, without any sound from upstairs. How great is that? I was in 7th heaven.

The following night I did not sleep very well, I was waiting for them to come home, and wake me up. Getting used to the peace and quiet, takes at least one night.

My revenge went out of the window, but my price was even better.

Peace and quiet. That was what I got, instead of my wonderful imagined revenge.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

continued from yesterday.

14. October 2017

Since the wonderful couple that was getting married were Christians they did not consider themselves married, even though they had got the Chinese papers, until after the ceremony in the church.

The ceremony was supposed to start at half past ten. Different sound makers had  arrived to welcome the bride. Someone came running to the kitchen and told me to get to the church because the bride would be arriving any minute. At that moment I had 3 pots full of uncooked food and no gas or electricity.  I could not leave and I would miss out on the wedding. I knew there would be a video and thought I could relax later. I pictured myself sitting in a cosy chair in my living room and watch the ceremony. Maybe three days later or there about, when I had recovered from the cooking. How simple minded I was.

The gas arrived at 11 o’clock but the bride had not.

I turned to my cooking serene and accepting that I would not participate in this ceremony.  At 12 everything was ready and I had put the pots into duvets to keep the food warm.

Oh, did I mention that the kitchen was under the blue sky and all kinds of animals, dogs, cats, mice and more lived in the kitchen? Very nice and homely but perhaps not quite what you would expect from a kitchen where you make food for hundreds of people, and most likely not according to any rules, but who cares. The food had to be prepared and cooked somewhere.

I got the recipes from the groom. He expected me to use 3 kg of MSG which is quite popular in Chinese cooking and huge lobbying in the TV how good MSG was and is for the health. Of course I was not going to poison the guests so no MSG went into my cooking, but everyone liked it a lot. When the pots had been tugged in the duvets I strolled down to the Church.

Just few minutes walk. And guess what, isn’t the car, the brides car in sight and I even managed to see the bride get out of it, really beautiful and of course in a white western dress. The groom and the best man stood at the altar, waiting. The altar was in fact just a lectern and not an altar, the ordinary ones. The priest was dressed in a yellow shirt and next to him stood an interpreter because some of the guests did not understand Chinese.

Then began the longest wedding ceremony I have ever attended, with  speeches, video show and song. The priest did not bless the couple but the groom put a ring on his loves finger and she on his. After the rings they should kiss. That took a long time. The bride did not want to kiss but eventually they managed. I have no idea if they are married according  Christianity. I asked why the priest did not bless them and was told that this was the Chinese way and indicated I should not be interfering with things that were not my business at all. I did not push it.

I wondered why they invited so many Chinese to the wedding. It was explained to me that the Chinese should see the Christian way and they might even be interested to join the group, the holy ones. Every opportunity to save the heathens, used to its fullest.

The whole ceremony took 3 hours and the food waited patiently in the duvets. Tables were set up outside but then it began to rain and everything moved into the church, which was fine with me, even though I had cleaned the tables and everything was shining. Why are you cleaning the tables? someone asked. Seriously!

Everyone liked the food but the cook completely dead. During the night there was a thunderstorm and lightning but the cook slept  like dead and had no idea about the raving angry weather or screaming air conditions in next apartments, which usually kept me awake.  No I was dead.

The next day the groom asked me why I did not give people the soup? Well, the soup was in the pot on the floor. Next to the plant, the big pot. How could I remember everything? I made sure everybody was eating! That should have been enough, shouldn’t it? I forgot the bloody pot. There was soup for 100 people and the groom could have eaten it for a month at least, with his wife. But no, there was no MSG in it and he noticed. Oh my I totally blew it, but did not care, it was over and I was never going to do anything like this again. I was finished letting people use me.

The couple is going on a honeymoon to Canada and there is going to one more ceremony. I wonder if the couple will be happy for ever and ever. They should at least after 3 ceremonies. One Chinese, and 2 Christians. That should be enough to tie them together for ever, should it not?

I asked the groom,  before the cutting and cooking, if he could get someone else to help him because I had a broken wrist. No, that was not possible. But, when the idea surfaced to ask me to help the new lady to cook for her foreign guests in their home the next day I said NO and ran.

I was invited to the dinner in their apartment, the one I refused to help with. There was a lot of HALELUJA there. Everything was halelujaed and I felt like an outsider. I got off, downstairs, as quick as possible. This was not my piece of cake.

I was teaching in Quanzhou and lived in the dormitory where all the other teacher had apartments, both Chinese and foreigners. There were just 2 foreign teachers and we lived in the same corridor.

I was on the first floor and he on the second just above my head.

One day the teacher asked me to help with his wedding.  He was going to marry a Chinese girl

The wedding was supposed to be on the 22nd of May, which is my birthday. This birthday I became  a legal senior citizen, 65 years old.

The teacher was from Canada.

So, he asked me to help with his wedding and that was of course nothing but happiness. I thought I would be some kind of prettification and my task would be to make sure everything would be decent during the dining, but that was not quite the truth.

I was supposed to help with the cooking, just help. When cooking for 100 guests you have to cut a lot vegetables, meat and god knows what. The recipes were made by the groom. Everything on paper, really organised. I was cooking or preparing the food from Friday afternoon until noon Saturday, of course with a bit of sleep during the night, or at least not cooking during the night. I was supposed to sleep.

When I came home Friday night I was so tired that sleep would not come and I slept almost nothing.  Pain in my wrist also kept me awake.  I had broken the wrist some time ago. I forgot to look ahead and dug my toes into screws that stood proud in the road. There are abandoned screws and nails all around. Not worth cleaning peanuts like that after road maintenance and everyone knows this, except of course me who had just arrived to the city and was totally ignorant.

On Saturday, the wedding day, I arrived in the kitchen at six o’clock and now everything that had been cut the day before should go into the pots and the cooking start. Everything went well and according to plan, but

The electricity died and there was no gas in sight at least for several coming hours.  Now the imagination had to pop in. The vivid imagination. I pictured more than 100 people hungry and no food. In the weeding. Disaster and nothing less.

Three teachers, dressed up came and wanted to help. Dressed up in  short skirts, really short ones, the skirts are short here in China. It is ok if you see the nighties under the shirts but it is not ok to wear low-necked dress. These 3 were the ones that pushed me over the edge and I was totally devastated. How could those help with their bags and in their mini skirts help? When they had wandered around for about 5 minutes I told them to go down to the church. It took another 5 minutes to get them out, everything had to be discussed. My oh my how we can discuss everything into death here in my lovely country.

Of course I had to apologise again and again for my attitude and how abrupt I was, but I think I have been forgiven. People here are used to me and they are used to me speaking my mind.  Someone said that they could trust me, I would always tell the truth. Here we don´t express our opinion or say what we want to say. We dance around the words and no one knows what we really think. This is being polite, you know.

Another thing I find quite amazing is how the women dress. Since I was a teacher in a Middle school I was supposed to wear cardigans or blouses up to the neck with sleeves, and never something that could hint that inside my bra is not just push up, but real flesh.

Here it is a mortal sin to have breasts but very nice and fancy to wear a big bra full of  foam. Of course it is not a problem for the Chines women to wear low necked tea shirts or blouses because you never see breasts, you just see the bras. On the other hand there is nothing wrong with a shirt so tiny that when you move the nighties appear. It is just porch and not to mention if you are wearing spike heals and preferably high winter boots. It dropped out of my mouth one day when observing some of the women teachers here in the school who dressed in the mini skirts, that this was how the hookers in the west dressed.

Not very modest but in 38 degrees and having to wear a long sleeved cardigan with the sweat running down between real breasts, even though not too big, can make a person loose their minds watching the staffs  striped and dotted panties.

Back to the weeding. The couple is Christian, and being a Christian here in China is special and important.  Always said a prayer before the meals and everyone is halleujaing  all the time, just like being at a denomination meeting or something. I am not a fan of denominations and they are not in line with my believe, not to mention that I believe God is really nice and he loves everyone even those who are from other nationality or believe.

A good friend of mine gave me a beautiful cross when he said good by in Iceland. I often wear this cross, specially if I need  courage or love. When someone sees the cross and sais in a sleek voice: ARE YOU A CHRISTIAN? I run and as fast as I can.

Many foreigners and even the Chinese do agree with me and have experienced this huge hypocrisy according to the religion. So, here I was among at least one hundred people who more or less belonged to the wholly ones, and there was a wedding in the pipes.

The couple was of course already married according to the Chinese law, they had got the paper a month before or more, before the Christian wedding. To get married in this land you go to some bureaucracy in Fuzhou (which is the capital in the province) and there you get a certificate that you are married. I have no idea how this is done but I know  the end result is that they are a couple, a married couple.

continues/

Hulda Björnsdóttir

7th October 2017

Who would have thought that in October we would see pictures like those?

It is devastating. The sun has disappeared. There is just horror.

When looking out of my windows this morning and yesterday I was horror stricken. How can this be happening now?  It has been the worst summer in decades. The arsenics continue right into the autumn. They taka advantage of the wonderful weather and the warm temperature.

I am sad. Not just sad. Now I am angry. I have been trying to be understanding and tolerating but now I can´t anymore. This is it. Opening the TV and seeing what has been happening through the night and during the day is heart braking.

We have lost tens of people in the fires during the summer. Innocent children, whole families, grandparents, fire men, tourists and just ordinary people who happened to be in the land.

We have lost huge areas of land. We have lost the livelihood of so many. We have lost houses. Some have lost everything. Just imagine, loosing everything because a mad man or a woman think it is funny to see the fires on TV and some of them become famous as the rescuers and fire fighters until the truth emerges.

There are the drug addicts and the mad people. This is their happy moments. The moments of despair for others.

There are the poor people, who see no way out of the poverty and their desperation takes them over the brink and they light a fire.

There are those who buy the wood and think they can save some money by a burnt wood.

There is the punishment for lighting the fire. Too lenient and up until this year those who allow the madness to control them led to the judge are set free after a very short time. They are sick and they should not be in prison, the judges say. Seriously! The punishment is madness.

The foreigners shout and tell us the Eucalyptus is to blame.

I have been living in my land for almost 7 years. This is the worst summer. This is the driest summer. And this is the summer I don´t want to experience again.

The next 7 days there will be wonderful warm weather. It is like an extension of the summer. There is no rain in the cards. Just wonderfully warm and could be beauty and nothing else. No, I don´t dare to hope. Now I have lost my hope for a while. Now I just want the freezing cold winter days to  come and embrace my beautiful country. Now I want the angels to pour the rain down on us like there is no end to it. Now we need prayers and love and light for my land. Now we need clear blue sky. Now we need the madness to stop.

There must be hope. There has to be hope somewhere. There must be a solution, we just have to find it.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

The doctor was a handsome man. Really handsome. He had eyes to die for. He was not tall but somehow he had authority about him, that is only visible in great men. His home was in a small village up north in the tiny island where fire and ice fight. The ice sometimes conquers, but the fire is strong.

The doctors wife helped him with the surgery and she took care of the anaesthesia.  They were a team. It was a busy home. Their home was not just a home for their family of 10, it was a hospital as well. The wife played a huge role. She was a tiny woman but being around her you felt like there was a general. Of course, this was a busy woman.

The life went on in the tiny village, the doctor had to travel a lot, the wife took care of the home and then there was the love that needed to be nourished. After a long day the woman was not always in the mood.

Next door lived a young woman. She had 2 children, but was divorced. The children were more or less grown up. She struggled because she was a TB survivor and they often had trouble with their health. There were many visits to the doctor, just to keep her life bearable. Her daughter had a mental illness which was a huge test and burden on the family. Eventually the daughter moved to another place but when the collapses came, she was brought home to the mother. The poverty and the sickness made it difficult to survive.

Although poor, the young woman next door was an artist. She could sow, she could make things, beautiful things from almost nothing. She learned to make clothes, men’s clothes. She studied with a famous tailor and she was good. Really good. Life was hard. She was lonely and the handsome doctor was just next door.

They fell in love.

Some times love bears fruit. And this one did. A little girl was born. The father was 60 years old, the mother 35. They were not married. She was his mistress, next door mistress. The wife got furious. Hell broke loose. A son, studying in England, had to come home. The marriage, the hospital, the doctor, everything was in turmoil. The son came home and managed to help the mother accept the fathers misstep. This was the scandal of the year, or maybe of the century, in the village.

The little girl was a beauty. She had blond hair, blue green eyes and a soft white skin, very white skin. She had her fathers eyes and her mothers skin. Would not a tiny creature like this one be welcome to the world? Would her birth not be celebrated by everyone?

A fruit of love should be precious. This one was not. This fruit was a fruit of passion, and passion did not fit into the environment where she came from. The fathers children stood with their mother. They were angry. He had let them down and this child was not to be accepted in the family. No, this child was to be kept away, hidden where the sisters would not have to see it. The brothers were not as biased. They were a bit more tolerant, but they had not forgiven. Forgiveness is difficult when the  cuckold mother is the strong one in the sibling’s eyes.

The little child and the mother lived next door, next door to the family that had been betrayed by the patient which happened to be a woman.

The man, the doctor, was forgiven but the child not. The child was the curse. It was the child’s fault that the doctors marriage was on fire. The mothers children also hated the child. This little girl had ruined their reputation !

Or was that the truth? Was the reality something else? Was it the child who should bear the guilt and be branded?  Would the child survive in those circumstances? What would the future bear for this one?

Would the mother love the child? Would the father love his daughter?

Hulda Björnsdóttir

5th  October 2017

It is December and just 4 days left of the year. A busy day at work. The pone rings. It´s the nurse from the home where the mother has lived for few years.

Your mother has had a stroke, again, and we would like you to come and talk to her doctor.

I tell my boss I need to go and see what is happening. He is nice and just tells me to go. He understands. He knows that I will take care of what needs to be done when I can.

I drive to the home and try not to drive too fast. I am prepared for the worst, or maybe it is not the worst. Maybe it is just a relieve. The mother has been kept alive for too long. The son has been in charge. He does not want to let go. Why are people like that? Is it because of guilty conscience? What is it? I don´t know.

When I arrive at the home for the elderly, my mothers family doctor is waiting for me. He explains what has happened. He explains what can be done. He explains what live would be ahead for the mother if she is kept alive, once again, going through the process of not being allowed to get the rest she really needs. She is 90 years old and has been more or less out of the world for several years. In the home for the elderly, she has demanded that her door is locked all the time, locked by key, so the others can not get into her room. Isn’t that being a prisoner in your own room? Every time I have had to lock the door with the key from outside when I leaving her, my heart has broken.

This is not a live, this is death, I have thought when leaving.

The doctor is a wonderful man. I have known him for a very long time and he hugs me while I take in the situation and decide what to do.

Please my dear doctor, I say. Please allow her to go now. She has nothing left. The life she has been living these last years is not a life. Please just make sure she does not suffer these last moments, I beg of him.

He hugs me again and agrees. This is the end and the road to a beginning for the mother. A beginning to a better life, a life where pain is gone and she can meet with  those who she loves and are already gone. Those who are alive have to accept and stop being selfish in their guilt.

I have been to my mothers home every day for almost 3 years. The nurses and staff know me and that makes everything easier. They are like a family. They are the ones that have taken care of my mother and cared for her. They are also dealing with grief.

I go back to my work. Tell my boss how the situation is and he tells me to be with her as long as I need. I tidy up my desk, leave and now it is just the mother that matters. These are her last days. I bring a mattress from home and a bock and something to knit. Knitting makes the situation somehow more normal. The doctor and the nurses tell me to talk to the mother. They think it will sooth her. We don´t know how much, if anything, those who are at the end of the road and have lost consciousness, can hear or understand.

I play Gregorian Chant, very low but it is soothing.

The doors are not locked.

This is not a time to use a key and lock everyone out. This is a moment when everyone is free. There are 2 of them dying. Everything is quiet and serene. The others, who live in this part of the corridor, sense that the moment is for quietness, not for joy or laughter, just for being.

The mothers son comes and he is told that nothing can be done and this is the end. He has to accept and he does.

When the nurses leave the shift they come and say good by to the mother. There is so much love and passion in their quiet words and they caress her head and wish her well. They don´t expect her to last the night and this might be the last time they see her alive.

I go to bed on a mattress which I brought from home. I am not leaving. These are the last moments and I am going to spend them with the mother. She is not going to leave alone. During the night I wake up when the night shift comes into the room to make sure everything is ok. They come like angels. They don´t make any noise. They just come. They ask if I am ok. They care. They know it is difficult, but they also know it is a relieve. They understand and have gone through this many times. They have bonded with the people who live in the home and they are also sad. This night it is not just my mother, there is another one also.

When the night shift ends they come in and say good bye to the mother.

When the day shift comes they are surprised that she is still there. This is 2 days before the end of the year.

In the morning the nurses invite me to have breakfast with them. They have breakfast together and there they share some of their feelings and the sorrow but also the good joyful memorise. It is a unique moment. We are all in the same boat. They tell me some stories about their work and I understand more about how difficult and sometimes  undervalued their caring is. They do care. I have come to this home for three years and I have seen how much they care, but this morning I can also see their pain.

During the day, a nice comes and sits with the mother while  I go home to have a shower and change clothes. The new year is coming and the mother has always said we should take a shower and put on clean clothes so the new year arrives into a clean world. I need to make a call to the brother who lives faraway and let him know the situation. I manage to gather my strength and the nice calls. You need to come she sais, the time is close, and I rush back.

When I come back the mother seems to have lost more conscience, she somehow seems to be slipping away. I caress her head and tell her that now I am ready for the new year. I tell her I have taken a bath and changed clothes and now everything is as she wants it to be. The nurses are in the room and I go to the bathroom and cry. One of them comes to me and it is good to be in her arms while I cry a little. She gives me the strength I need for these last hours.

The brother and the wife arrive, the nice is there and I. The mother is fading away but does not want to let go.

When the brother sits there with her fingers in his hands and sais,; Look how the fingers are getting bluer, isn’t it interesting? I get crushed. How can he be so cold? He who has kept the mother alive again and again after one stroke and another stroke. Now he is at her deathbed wondering about how the fingers slowly loose their colour!

I lean to my mothers head and whisper in her ear:

My dear mother, it is ok to let go. Just let go and move into the light. I love you, but now it is time for you to let go and see the light ahead that is waiting for you.

When I rise up, she takes the last breath.

She is gone. She is free of pain. She is where the loved ones are waiting to embrace her and bid her welcome to the new world.

The brother leaves with his wife. The nice leaves. It is just me and the nurses. We sit for a while, talk about the mother and remember the good moments. They follow me downstairs and we hug. This is the end and the beginning.

I will never forget these 3 days, the days I spent 24 hours at the nursing home, that my mother had as a home for 3 years. I will never forget the love and passion I experienced for those 2 who were dying. I will never be able to thank the nurses, the doctors, the priest, the whole staff, that made me realise how little we know about the life inside homes for the elderly. They are not just like angels during the night. They are angels all the time.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

3rd of October 2017

This morning there was a thick fog all over my village.

I opened my kitchen door and looked out. What a sight ! Everything grey and mystic. The magic in the fog is something that never ceases to surprise me. My imagination takes the flight and goes into the ghost world where everything is different. What is behind the fog? Where does it go? Where does it come from? Will it last? Sailing into it can be dangerous not to mention driving into a foggy wall.

This morning, on my way to the gym in Coimbra, which is 45 kilometres away, I saw the wonders of the fog. I left Penela in sunshine and drove for about 20 minutes. Then the miracle happened. Over one of the mountains there was sunshine but the middle of the slope was covered in a grey, dark grey, cloud sailing like a slow fox dancer moving gracefully like only slow fox dancers can do.

Driving a bit further there was a wonderful blue clear sky with a thick grey fog beneath, just like a carpet, covering the mountains. Driving into the unknown, the ghost cloud, turning on the parking lights, taking down the sunglasses, was something. Nothing in front, just this thick grey carpet.

When arriving in Santa Clara, where my gym  is, the fog had disappeared and the sun shone. This was a cold morning but would be up to 30 later in the afternoon. Just an ordinary morning. A glorious day ahead. Or so you would assume.

Only few months ago I began a recovery after 2 years of serious illness. The gym was vital for my recovery. I would have preferred to go to Condeixa gym, but its a small one and during the winter its really cold there so I decided to go to Santa Clara, even though it takes about 45 minutes to get there. At the beginning I was not happy in my new gym. It was not a friendly environment for me who did not have a personal trainer, by choice. I complained and it changed. Now the coaches do bid good morning which is all I wanted, just to feel a tiny bit welcome. This is not cheap place, I can tell you that. What looks to me is that the upper class is attending this place, which is ok.

In the beginning I was evaluated and had to tell the history of my health which is normal in a place like this. The coach made a plan for me, an exercise plan, which was in my mind rather useless. I followed the plan for a little while but then just gave up and used my knowledge to make my own. Of course there are machines I don´t know and have to make acquaintance with. We managed with the help of some good people, me and the machines managed, I mean.

The coach that evaluated me has been trying to help me and guide me. She was friendly and I was happy. She asked many times if I would like her to teach me the new program and even one day she took 30 minutes and made me do something different. Little did I know. This looked quite nice. At the end she asked if I wanted her to be my personal trainer? I asked about the price and  said no.  I told her I could not afford to. She tried to convince me and I told her it was impossible for me. I explained a bit about how my money these months go to the taxman, which I am happy about. I am happy to be able to contribute to the society that takes good care of me when I need help.

She continued to “help” me when it was her sift to look after those training on their own. I still thought she was just being friendly.

One day she told me it was impossible for her to continue “helping” me and she did not want to get some crap from the others about paying to much attention to me. Now she sat down with me and explained once again, how important it would be for me to have a personal trainer! I explained again, I did not want a personal trainer and I could not afford it. Then it came.

She told me, there was a customer of her, that earned 500 euros per month. He prioritised ! He smokes 2 packs of cigarettes per day. He pays 174 EUR per month for personal training. He has to take a lot of medicine, because of his health. HIS PRIORITY is the personal training, she said.

I asked her, as a stupid woman, how he could live? How could he pay for electricity, rent, food, medicine, health care, clothes and so on?  At that time I did not know the price of cigarettes here in my land, but now I know. Her reply was, he values his health more than anything!

Right. I went home. I thought about the situation. Most of all I thought about how annoying this endlessly business trying was. I already pay 200 euros per month for the gym, 50 for the gym, and 150 for diesel on my car. Am I going to spend more on the Gym? No.

If you smoke 2 packs of cigarettes per day it is 300 euros per month. If you earn 500 per month and spend 300 on cigarettes what’s left  is 200 euros. If you pay 174 for personal training and 50 for the gym you are in minus. Makes sense to me.

I came to the conclusion the either the coach thought I was an idiot or she was obsessed with getting more private clients and could not take a no for an answer.

This morning I just said good morning to her and nothing more. I was not happy about her approach and just wanted to be left alone.

Did that happen? O no! She came to the machine I was working on, stopped my training and asked why this long face today? I got pissed off. Told her to leave me alone. She was not going to give up. We are going to talk about what’s wrong next day, she told me.

No, we are not going to talk about anything, my reply was.

When going to the shower I noticed she was talking to her fellow coaches about me and my peculiar mood!

So, when I left I asked the receptionists to talk to her and tell her to leave me alone. I don´t need her degrading help. If she does not leave me alone I will complain to the boss, the receptionists know that, and if nothing works I will just leave and find another gym. There are plenty of them in Coimbra.

My point is this. I have said no, more than once. I have explained my choice. The argument, that she just does want to help me, is fine. That is business. If I don´t want to buy what I am being offered a NO should be enough. I should not be harassed because someone is desperate to get clients.

When driving home from the gym this morning I was quite happy. The sky was bluer than blue, the autumn colours shone like never before. Everything was perfect. I had stood up for myself, which was a victory in itself.  The fog had disappeared until tomorrow morning and it was warm. Tomorrow is another summer clothes day and what more can I wish for? The next 7 days we will most likely have a wonderful weather and it is October. The grapevine gets more beautiful every day. The grapes are already gone into huge barrels and will make the people happy and drunk. The olives are next. Soon I will see the farmers on their way to pick the olives. It will be grate if they can do it in a warm weather. Usually they are freezing but it could be different this year.

Everything is changing in the nature. One thing does not change. We need to be able to take a NO for a answer.

Hulda Björnsdóttir